He Hung The Moon

Monty and I had a difficult and somewhat heartbreaking situation to deal with last Saturday night.  Afterwards, we had a two and a half hour drive home.  So we talked about it, trying to make sense of the insensible—trying to apply ration to the irrational.  I cried.  Monty’s engineer’s mind tried to find solutions.  And finally, we just drove in silence, holding hands, lost in our own thoughts.  I laid my head back on the headrest and looked up into the sky.  There, in the complete blackness over the prairie, was a huge, full moon breaking through the clouds.  Its beauty reminded me Who was in control, and my heart cried out to God, “You have no idea how much I needed to see that right now.”  And I felt Him respond, “Oh, but I did.  And if you were the only one of my children that saw that moon tonight, I still would have put it there for you.  I love you that much.”

My heart was still sad.  Our circumstances hadn’t changed.  But I felt peace.  And I felt so much love in that car. I watched the moon the whole drive home, and I thought about how God knew exactly what I needed in that moment.  Zephaniah 3:17 says, “The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves.  He will take great delight in you; in His love, He will no longer rebuke you, but He will rejoice over you with singing.”  This verse says He loves us, yes, but it also says that He delights in us.  Delight—such a human word for such a divine concept.  God actually takes “great delight” in us.  It delights Him to give us gifts as reminders of his sovereignty and love.  He created me; he designed my soul, so of course, He knew that the moon that night would reach me like nothing else could have.

As parents do with their children, I do this with my cats—give them gifts that say, “Hey, I saw this and thought of you.”  Carrick adores shiny things, so I save foil wrappers from Arby’s and bring them home to him, knowing how his eyes will light up when he sees them.  He works on the wrappers, molding them into little balls that he can squirrel away into his hidden treasure trove.  Mackin is obsessed with the newspaper, so I leave it on the floor for him, letting him sleep on it, scratch at it, and make a fort out of it.  And Seamus lives for treats, so I hide them all around me so I can give them to him throughout the day.  I know what makes my boys happy, but I’m the one who gets delight out of watching them receive what I give them.

How much more—HOW MUCH MORE—does my God love me and delight over me?  And how many times do I miss the gifts He wants to give me because I’m too focused on the immediacy of my problems to look up?  Our situation from Saturday hasn’t improved.  But we have some perspective on it now.  And we’ve seen the hand of God in every aspect of it.  Both Monty and I have been given reminders of the enormity of God’s love for us—in very different ways, because we are different.  And I just keep thinking, “The God who put that moon in place is the same God who loves me.  Who delights in me.”  And I cannot be anything less than grateful.  Even for Saturday. . .